


Immaculate

by alnora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Demisexual Sam, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Rope Bondage, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnora/pseuds/alnora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Castiel can absolve Sam of his sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immaculate

**Author's Note:**

> Never wrote anything with this kind of content before. Hope it's okay.

“Are you having difficulty breathing, Sam?”

 

“No, Castiel.”

 

Cas's eyes followed the thin rope binding Sam's arms behind him just below his shoulder blades, so far up that his elbows pointed outward like wings, rope knotted several times over with one end trailing to his neck, wrapped snugly thereafter. Or at least he hoped. Technically while they have not started their “game” yet, Sam would address Cas with his full name, especially if he would be unable to speak for the duration depending on what the angel desired. Like the salute of one of his subordinates in heaven but with the husk of intimacy – it made him want to growl. The formality wasn't a necessity like it was to others who played like them. It was what Sam wanted, and Cas would always oblige him of any whims, protocol be damned.

 

“I'm serious.” He scooted further up the bed to be in front of Sam. “Passing out is not the ending I envisioned and I hope it's not the one you want. Is it?” Cas asked with the quirk of an eyebrow.

 

“No, Cas...” Sam pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he caught himself about to say “Castiel.” And the scolding scowl on Cas's face wanted honesty and not something Sam thought he had to say, like an actor on stage. Sam never did. It was too difficult to once they began, and not like he wanted to lie to Cas. Ever. “It's choking me just enough.” He wiggled his arms as well as he could, showcasing that any tug made downward is what would make him gag but only gag; the bind around his throat only being a trifle pressure.

 

But Cas was always cautious. Undoubtedly stern when he needed to be, but cautious. Sam not being harmed was only one aspect of his methodology: he was also a perfectionist. Protect him and while doing so make him feel good. Make every time they do this feel like the first. There is comfort in safety, a removal of the shield of vulnerability where one can be oneself and give in to that guarded treasure. Sam feeling safe with Cas was his source of pleasure, although what he was about to do would not seem so to most people.

 

The words were enough. Cas ran his fingers through Sam's hair and against his scalp. Sam rubbed into it, as he always did. A brief sentimental moment before something more rough. Not giving in to the urge kiss Sam's jaw, his neck, his shoulder was as rough as any command Cas would give his human shortly, but resist he did. He'd have to do his part for the night and wait until they were finished. One of their loosely termed “rules.”

 

Cas reached to Sam's nightstand and retrieved the gag – Sam wanted something tried and true, what he assumed was the classic ball gag, with leather straps and a vibrant red ball like you'd throw to a dog. The Winchesters were known for being resourceful and would make due with just about anything: Cas had to agree with Sam's choice. The red suited him so well.

 

With his other hand he checked Sam's cell for the time. 4:17 am. Dean would be waking in a few hours, but they would be done long before then. It was waiting for him to go into a deep sleep so as to not disturb them, or disturb himself from overhearing anything. No matter the location, on the road or at home like now, they would wait. For the consideration and sanity of everyone.

 

“You're gonna have to ask me tonight,” Sam meaning that since he would be unable to use a safety word Cas would need to directly ask him intermittently if Sam wanted to quit. Even if he could it normally never came to that.

 

“You try to answer me, we stop. If you're silent, continue.” Sam nodded. He raised the gag to Sam's face and asked one last time, “Are you ready?” Once the clasp was attached behind Sam's head they would begin to play, and Cas would take no further orders or suggestions from his partner other than to stop. Although the gag did look good in his mouth, Cas ended up missing the “Yes, Castiel”s he'd hear otherwise. But Sam did have his ways of making up for it. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and said “Yeah,” growing anxious to begin.

 

The orders began once the gag was secured. “Face down, Sam.” He couldn't see himself giving much command tonight other than reminders for restraint and patience, which he did need occasionally. But the results of displeasing Cas would be the same: stopping cold, leaving Sam's nerves frazzled but otherwise understanding with a promise to do better next time.

 

Sam bent forward with his face to the bare mattress, pleasant to sleep on but not so supportive, and scratchy under his cheek which was exactly the point; his backside in the air covered only in a pair of shorts too small for him – another intentional move on Castiel's part. “Draw your knees in closer,” and he did, putting more strain on his neck and already tense shoulders as he walked his knees toward his chest.

 

Cas's voice strained in the beginning, it always did, bordering on wanting to be stern and overcoming the fact that what he was doing was essentially hurting the last person he ever wanted to harm. “It's not... really hurting me,” Sam tried to explain to him initially. “Well, you _are_ , but at the same time you're not.” Cas could spend another hundred year on Earth and still be no closer to understanding humans. The more they experimented, the more they pushed their respective boundaries, the need for this was so _clear_.

 

Being put on display, being appraised, was the first part: the main course being visually savored before being devoured. Cas inspecting flesh and debating how to use it while Sam looked on with expectant eyes, nervous and demanding attention. His dark eyebrows lowered, eyes finally catching Sam's. White sleeves being rolled up to his elbows, never breaking contact. Sam felt the first flutter in his belly. Touch. Touch already.

 

A finger drifted down the knobs of his spine. “I'm finally starting to understand this 'game' you humans play, hurting one another for gratification,” Cas said lazily. “But I'm not interested in their motives. I wanted to know what Samuel Winchester gained from pain.” His fingertip drew patterns on the canvas of Sam's back, some he knew, others random; sometimes he wandered too far down his side causing Sam to shudder as he suppressed a ticklish giggle. No moving. He knew better. “Getting through that congested mess took some tries, but I figured it out.”

 

As he reached Sam's waistband he quickly drew back and slapped his hand against Sam's backside, trying to restrict the strength behind it as much as possible which, for a human, still stung, even through the fabric of his boxers. A hum in Sam's throat was all the sound he made, knowing Cas was working up stronger hits.

 

Two more came, the last one harder than the one before it. So far Cas felt nothing in his hand. “It reminds me of the self-flagellation men of the cloth would act upon themselves,  _still_ act upon themselves. Commit a sinful act or thought and they would prostrate themselves before the Bible and whip their backs until they welled up, sometimes until they bled.” Cas grouped at the abused flesh, a gentle caress, before another slap made Sam wobble, grunting harsher. The need for Cas to touch more, to speed up, began to rise in his brain.

 

“You have so much pain inside of you. So much guilt. Your sins, Sam. Your failures. Your indiscretions. Dean has his way of dealing with the same thing: drinking, women, succumbing to his already pugilistic nature.” He leaned in close to Sam, whispering in his ear and brushing stray locks from his eyes. “But you are not your brother. Your id needs a different form of expression.”

 

A conversation Sam had with Dean played back in his mind.

 

“ _So... You and Cas.”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

“ _You two are together, right?”_

 

“ _Yeah.”_

 

“ _And you don't... fool around or anything, right?”_

 

“ _I guess you can say we fool around. But sex? No, we don't.”_

 

“ _How... how is that possible?”_

 

Because no matter what Balthazar and Gabriel led them to believe, most angels were celibate – asexual. Most, if not all, experience intense feelings of romanticism, as Cas does, but the impulse for intercourse is not as strong as it is for a human. Which suited Sam just fine. While he had had sex and enjoyed it, it never trumped a strong embrace, a quiet night on the couch watching movies, a kiss that would make his heart stop. Cas did not want sex and Sam did not feel like he was missing out. Quite the opposite: he had the devotion of an angel he fell for on first glance, and one he thought liked his brother for years.

 

Booze softened the hurt but never masked it quite enough, sex with strangers left him feeling more hollow than before. Drugs... he knew the compulsion to consume too well, how it ruined lives and not just his own; the withdraw. Never. Out of the question. So what was left?

 

Cas wrapped a finger around a strand of hair and tugged. Sam's head couldn't bend back much further, but the sting it caused was the goal. “You want to lose yourself.” He bent closer to Sam's ear once again, changing his tone, sounding like Cas instead of Castiel. “Sam?”

 

He knew Sam wasn't physically hurting yet. What they did could push psychological limits so Cas was checking in early on to gauge how far Sam might be able to go. It was too early to call it quits. He wanted to be pushed further, hurt just a little more.

 

Sam stayed quiet as agreed, blinking at eyes before they turned cooler, like he never broke character. Two slaps came in quick succession, much harder than before and catching Sam off guard. The pain shot through his back like lightning, causing him to buck his hips forward and moan around the gag.

 

“ _Sam._ ” Cas was not please by the involuntary shake. Grabbing the rope connecting his arms and neck, Cas pulled up slowly but steady, the relief of pressure on his arms robbed by the rope around his neck. He was quick to release it this time; usually it was a 50% chance that Cas would forgo a warning and tug a little harder, or twist, or push, all depending on what he wanted Sam doing that night. Sometimes he would quit all together, which disappointed Sam more than it infuriated him, knowing all the risks before starting.

 

Of course, Cas, meanwhile, did this with trepidation, always worrying that when a choke was involved that it would accidentally tighten like a noose and really strangle him despite checking the knot persistently, _despite_ being able to tear it apart should it come to that. The limitless trust Sam had in him made it marginally easier to have these sessions, but only marginally.

 

His backside tingled, warming and spreading out at a snail's pace down his legs and up his back, but as Cas pulled down his boxers (never completely, with the waistband resting just underneath his ass) he knew that the warm-up was over. An anticipatory quiver overcame his stomach, toes curling. The insignificant cloth offered almost no protection and even that was gone. Nothing left to muffle the sound of skin on skin or to absorb the impact. Harder, more frequent. The prospect of pain was so... exhilarating.

 

The revealed skin was darkening in a way that didn't suit Cas; he'd need to speed things up. “You've spent your entire life being beaten, stabbed, cut, shot... dying more times than normal humans.” An open palm rubbed Sam's lower back, slow grazes, sometimes sliding low enough to cup him and feel the simmer of heat being generated by his ministrations. His vessel's body would register the pain in his hand as it happened, and that was all. He did not emit the same heat Sam did. “So when you asked me to treat you like this, I thought the question very confounding. _Why_ would you want more pain in your life?” Another slap, this time sounding like a gunshot. Sam grunted and went rigid as he focused his will on staying still. “Why do you volunteer for that?”

 

He knew the answer, he knew Cas did, but he needed to hear him say it. The truth hurt as much as a lie and he fucking needed it.

 

“Because this kind of pain is the only one you have control over. It's one of the very few things that you can force your will upon.” Cas was now on the bed and out of Sam's line of sight, on his knees at his side. A much more comfortable angle. “Odd that your choice is to have no choice at all, but I've learned a lot about you, Sam, since we began these sessions. I understand why.

 

“It's _because_ you grew up with the threat of harm, and living a lifetime of it. This is... all you know.” His human heart would always twist in his chest when his monologues turned down this route. This brilliant and compassionate soul living a life no one should, being reminded of his past when he endured it in his own mind every day? Why would you ever want this?, he asked. For me to physically and mentally abuse you? You're not abusing me, Cas. Because of you, for a few hours, I'm _clean_.

 

“I know you enjoy kissing and caressing, touching. As do I.” A slap Cas must have winded up for. It hurt. It god damn hurt. Indignation was seeping into his throat and he wanted another. _Again you bastard_. “But that, that is your chiral desire. This is no different to you than a kiss. When you're prepared for it. You would not enjoy me slapping your face as you tried to kiss me – normally. But when I have your permission, I can still leave you breathless.”

 

A hand at his throat that kept him still; a hand across his cheek. Remorseful eyes struggling to keep it up. A kiss that was too benign. Sam felt a tinge of disappointment but encouraged Cas wordlessly to continue. Another slap. Sam's breath quickened; he leaned harder into the kiss this time. Two more. He gasped. He growled. He wanted to pounce on the angel and tear him apart – and Cas could tell. The kisses went on longer, deeper, both wanting to drop the pretenses of their roles, to disrobe and touch and explore each other equally, but that was the point of their game. Goading Cas on in his head was as close as he could come to giving direction. Harder. Faster. Damnit Cas, harder.

 

Cas was skilled at leaving Sam breathless. And hard as stone. Which was an inevitability. Slick tongue against his own, aggressive and needy, even the recollection of such a thing acted as an aphrodisiac in the present. It would happen. Castiel would notice, obviously. Sam didn't expect anything to relieve it, nor did he want it. His body simply reacted to stimulus, even if it wasn't as pleasurable to others.

 

All the reason why Cas wanted his boxers impossibly tight. Sam's arousal was never lost on him, even now when Sam's sandwiched body obscured his growing erection: another body part to restrict. A most sensitive body part at that. Seeking climax was something Sam never even considered. His arousal was a welcomed distraction, adding even more sensitivity, more drive, to what Cas began.

 

“It's all part of some... _plan_ for absolution. You want hurt. You expect to hurt, for the things done to you and what you've done, indirectly or not, to others. The whip is in your hand, but there is no restitution. The guilt is still there, as is the fear. In your mind only someone else can redeem you.”

 

The hits came consecutively, one for each second that passed. Sam tried with all of his strength to remain quiet, clenching muscles and teeth failing to bite into the smooth surface of the gag. It hit him like a drug – the pain, Cas's tone, his words, the inescapable pleasure, shaking a cocktail in his brain and coursing through his veins. His ascent to an apex was closing in.

 

Cas pressed a hand to Sam's back, almost tenderly, to steady him. “You handed me the whip in perfect trust. Was it worth it, Sam? Am I healing you?” After a pregnant silence, with Sam holding his breath, not sure if Cas was tempting him to disobey, Cas added calmly but still with the shadow of aggression, “It's okay, Sam. Tell me. Tell me if I'm helping you.”

 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip off the gag and scream yes. He wanted the binds off so that he could press the angel close to him; kiss him like he'd die without it; feel the nails tracking a path down his back; pinches and bites. Yes, Cas, you are. When we're like this, I'm forgiven. But the only sound he could make was inarticulate cries behind the gag trying to convey everything -everything- he felt. He didn't deserve Cas, anything about him. Because of that, he was the only one who could redeem him.

 

“Do you forget their faces?”

 

_Yes._

 

“Do you not see blood?”

 

_Yes._

 

“Do you not burn?”

 

_Yes._

 

“Have you forgotten his corpse in your arms?”

 

_Yes._

 

“Will this ever be enough?”

 

_Never._

 

No amount of punishment would ever be enough to wipe the slate clean, perhaps not even death. Sam knew the futility in this game of obedience they played, but Cas loved him and would humor the poor soul. He would never agree with what Sam required of him 100%. It was all a matter of love and trust. The ending seemed to make it worthwhile.

 

Sam couldn't stop talking now. He tried to stop his leaky faucet of a mouth pouring forth only mumbles and whines, words he was both relieved and downhearted Cas would never hear. Cas may not like it, but he couldn't help himself.

 

“Sam?” It was still Castiel, sounding very disapproving. He said his name one more time before another snap sliced the room and nearly lifting Sam off his knees.

 

He was euphoric, babbling, swallowed up by love and loathing and a pain he could feel down to his toes, but it was a good pain, one that helped him to listen to himself and _feel_ all at once, transferring morbid memories to an external source where they could be absorbed temporarily and he could be, at, peace.

 

Cas moved off of the bed and crouched down in front of Sam. His muffled ranting tapered off finally to deep breaths, eyes glassy and heavy lidded. He undid the gag's strap, a string of saliva stubbornly sticking to it, and put it aside on the stand. Sam swallowed out of reflex but couldn't shut his jaw completely just yet. As methodical as always, the rope came next. Time was a concept; it could have taken a week for Cas to untie him for all Sam knew. It finally came off and was dropped to the floor. Cas knocked Sam's knees out from under him with the utmost care, the man's neck, arms and shoulders being stiff as iron rods by now. Sam hummed in pain or relief or both. No matter how badly Cas wanted to soothe his aches, Sam wouldn't allow it. What was the point in doing this at all if Cas healed him shortly after?

 

Sam's neck was bent toward the opposite wall, the initial pain of twisting it gave way to bliss. Cas smiled as much as Sam did. The shorts came off next, Sam lifting his hips just enough for Cas to pull them down after a brief struggle.

 

And he would lay down next to Sam, still in his shirt and tie. His hair was covering most of his eyes, though he could see Sam was nearly asleep. His breath was steadying out; he looked absolutely drained. Good. He had learned to stop asking questions afterward, as much as he wanted to: Sam was either unable to or couldn't. Did he hurt him too much or too little? Did he say the right thing? Was he supposed to do this or that?

 

For approximately the next 3 hours Sam would not dream. The sleep of the dead. He'd wake up sore but rested. Once dressed only then was it safe to heal him. He glowed, seemingly re-energized. Before they left their room to meet with Dean for breakfast he would take Cas into his arms not out of love but as a thank-you. Cas had no idea how he knew the difference. They lasted longer he guessed.

 

But why? How could be be so blithe after what Cas put him though?

 

“I'm clean.”


End file.
